


A Matter of When

by FreshBrains



Category: Askewniverse, Chasing Amy (1995)
Genre: Community: pbam, F/M, First Time, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn Battle, Post-Coital, Sexual Humor, Threesome - F/M/M, pov alyssa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: Banky huffs out a sigh, breath hot against Alyssa’s thigh, and crawls his way up out of the covers to face Holden. “You see, this is why we only meet up once a year. Because you insist on fuckingtalkingall the time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle Prompt Stack 2 prompts: Every, future.

“Every _fucking_ time,” Holden says, eyes closed as he cards his fingers through his messed-up hair. “Fuck you guys.”

“Fuck are you talking about?” Banky’s voice is muffled beneath the blankets where he’s still propped between Alyssa’s legs, nosing softly at her stomach like a pleased puppy.

Alyssa shoos him away, still oversensitive from his mouth on her, legs still wobbly. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember if we’d done that before,” she says, voice coming out even huskier than usual as she catches her breath. She reaches over to the bedside table for a cigarette before remembering she quit in 2001.

These two idiots have a way of shoving her ass straight into a time machine.

“I don’t mean _this_ , actually,” Holden says, motioning towards the tangle of their bodies in his bed. Ironically, his bed is the least suited for a threesome. He still sleeps in a double. Alyssa sometimes forgets he never married. “This fucking conversation. About…us.”

Banky huffs out a sigh, breath hot against Alyssa’s thigh, and crawls his way up out of the covers. “You see, this is why we only meet up once a year. Because you insist on fucking _talking_ all the time. I’m not the one who brought up the threesome.” He flops between Holden and Alyssa, hogging all the pillows. “I just said, and I quote, ‘I haven’t munched box since 1998 and I wonder if I could still pull it off.’”

“Unfortunately, you _can_ ,” Alyssa says dryly.

“I’m not saying anyone brought it up. I’m not _blaming_ anyone. It’s just always there, like a big red fucking stop sign we have to suffer before we can step on the gas.”

“Poetic,” Banky says. He turns to Alyssa, and sort of _looks_ at her, in a way Alyssa has never seen him look at _anyone_ before. “Damn, Alyssa Jones. You haven’t changed a bit.” He smiles at her, crooked and boyish, and then Alyssa remembers why should couldn’t _completely_ hate him all those years ago. “So if we’re going off a rating system, would you give that maybe a 7/10? I feel like I sped up a little too much at the end there, sent you racing to the finish line. Your feedback was subpar.”

Alyssa rolls her eyes. _And_ there’s _why I wanted to slap him throughout most of 1996_. “In all honesty, is was a solid performance. The moustache really threw me off, though.” And not in a good way—the last time she felt facial hair against her cunt was when she was with Holden. It made her shiver a little. “It’s working for you, though. It doesn’t make you look at _all_ like a flasher on the bus.”

“Are we really doing this? Just hanging out, reminiscing, writing up critiques? This is _insane_ ,” Holden says, rubbing his eyes like he can’t believe they’ve ended up in his bed, but they _have_ , because they were always headed down that road.

Alyssa considers putting an end to this all. She considers getting up and putting on her jeans, heading back to her hotel, putting down a page or two of ideas for her next book. She considers not looking Holden in the eye again, not smiling at Banky like he didn’t destroy her twenty years ago.

But she did that back in 2005 when they met up at the cop bar that used to be the Meow Mix. That was a good year. Holden was penning a new series with IDW. Banky was seeing a guy, actually _seeing_ him, taking him out and holding his hand in front of God and the entire borough. And Alyssa was heartbroken— _again_. Different person, same story.

And Holden was _there_ , smelling like pencil shavings and Marlboro Lights, his arm heavy around her shoulders. Banky was _there_ , still an idiot, still ready to fight the first jackass who dared call him a queer even as he checked out the burly bartender, but softer and _better_ somehow. He didn’t apologize in so many words, didn’t bring up the yearbook or the nickname, but he let her win at darts and touched the small of her back with a firm hand when he reached around her for a pool cue. And Holden _talked_ , because he was always talking, but he listened more now. And his frown when she told him she and her girlfriend broke up was genuine—the kind of hurt friends feel for each other.

It could’ve happened that night, probably. Banky didn’t really sleep with women anymore. Alyssa didn’t really sleep with men anymore. And Holden didn’t really sleep with _anyone_ anymore. But it could’ve happened. So Alyssa paid her tab and put on her jacket, kissed them both on the cheek, and went home to cry.

But before Alyssa can say anything now, before she can stop it before it starts up again, Banky groans in frustration and pulls the sheet around his waist, hauling himself up and into Holden’s lap. “Look at me, jackass,” he says, hands on either side of Holden’s face. “It’s me. It’s Alyssa. The two people who know just how fucked up you really are.” He turns Holden’s head so he can look at Alyssa. “Look at her and tell her again how this is _insane_.” He says the last word mockingly, imitating Holden’s gruff tone, and Alyssa realizes then that Banky Edwards does not love Holden McNeil anymore, at least not how he used to.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Holden says softly, meeting Alyssa’s eyes. Time has been decent to them all in different ways, but it was especially fair with Holden. He has always been attractive in the most irritating, good-old-boy way, and now he looks like the gruff, sexy widower in a Martin Scorsese film.

“Yeah, well, I believe it was _you_ who once told me to think before I spoke,” Banky says. Then, before Holden can protest, he leans in and kisses him, hard, not at all like their kiss in the apartment when they had this conversation the first time. He kisses with confidence now, slipping his tongue into Holden’s mouth, arching their bodies together. When he pulls apart, there’s a string of spit keeping them together, and it sends an eager pulse through Alyssa’s cunt. “Now,” he says, “I want to blow you, and Alyssa can do whatever she damn well pleases right there next to us.”

Alyssa admires Banky in this moment—a fact she’d take to her grave. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t turn it into a joke, he just scoots back on his heels, glances down at Holden’s half-hard dick, and taps at his wrist like he’s on the clock. “So. Yay, nay?”

Alyssa watches them both, letting her eyes flit between the two men on the bed. She feels herself grow aroused again, and it isn’t their bodies—she’s not aroused by their hair and their muscles, the hardness where she’s soft. It’s the fact that she can watch them figure this out, that she can be there for that, and that they _want_ her there.

Holden sucks in a deep breath, and like he’s in a trance, he lets his hands wander to Banky’s hips, tugging him in again for a kiss. Holden likes kissing; Alyssa remembers that well. And the way Banky melts into him shows he hasn’t lost his touch. “How much feedback do you require for a BJ?” Holden’s words come out as half-laugh as Banky kisses down his neck and jaw and chest.

“My man, let me take the wheel and keep your trap shut,” Banky says, disappearing beneath the blankets again, and Alyssa lies back and fucking _laughs_ , hand working idly between her thighs. She thought she was over this, the adventure, the newness of sex and all the fear that came with it, but she supposes she’s never too old for something as perfect as _this_.


End file.
